


Torn Trouser Fetish

by runsinthefamily



Series: Torn Trousers [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F, M/M, pervy Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:26:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What becomes of the trousers after they have been torn?  Only pervy Hawke knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torn Trouser Fetish

"Honestly, Hawke, is this some kind of holdover from your penniless apostate days?"

"Hmm?" She turned around, saw what Isabela was holding, and froze. _Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker why did I leave that chest open?_

Isabela stood, one hand on her hip, the other dangling a pair of ripped trousers in mid air. "This chest is full of these things," she said. "All the same size, too. Are these yours? They look a bit ... long ..." Her eyes suddenly narrowed. "Whose are these, Hawke?" A grin was lurking at the corner of her mouth.

"I - they're - just junk, like all the stuff we pick up," she blustered. "I used to have a barrel of moldy dolls, too."

"Whose trousers are these?" Isabela asked again. She sauntered toward Hawke, swinging the garment lazily in the air. "My word, they're in bad shape. Look at this! Waistband torn right through, laces all ripped. Whoever was wearing them certainly was in a hurry to get them off."

Hawke didn't even have to shut her eyes to see it again, Anders pressed up against the wall in the clinic, Fenris sinking those metal claws of his into the waistband of Anders's pants and then tearing. Maker, the noise the cloth had made, thick and rough and violent. When she'd found the trousers tucked into a pile of rubble just around the corner, she'd known who they belonged to. Finding the second pair in the back room of Lirene's shop had been pure accident, but the distinctive parallel rips that Fenris's gauntlets made were unmistakable. The idea of the two of them, rutting like animals, leaving behind the rags of Anders's clothing was just too unbearably hot not to take the souvenir.

"Don't you look ... flushed," said Isabela, her voice dropping down into a low register.

"They're Anders's," she said in strangled tones. "He and Fenris have been fucking all over Kirkwall and leaving them behind."

The look on Isabela's face was almost worth the humiliation. She looked at the sad, shredded thing in her hand with near awe. "I knew they were ... but, seriously? Fenris ... Anders _lets_ him ...?" She shivered a little.

"I found a pair," said Hawke, unable to keep her mouth shut, "in that little courtyard at the south end of the Gallows. Shoved behind some rock."

"Shut up," said Isabela.

"And another," Hawke leaned in, "in a sack in a cave on the Wounded Coast."

"How many do you have?" Isabela asked, starry eyed.

"Over ten pairs," said Hawke. "I just can't help it, once I knew what they were, what they meant ..."

"Give me a pair," Isabela begged.

"No!"

"Just one?"

"No!"

Isabela's eyes narrowed again. "Give me a pair, or I'm telling Anders that you have them."

"You wouldn't."

"I'll tell _Fenris_."

"Fine!" Hawke pointed at the pair she was clutching. "Take them. Cow."

"I love you, Hawke," said Isabela. "I hope that you know that."

"Hussy."

"You are the best friend I've ever had."

"Slattern."

"Want to make out on top of these?"

" ... yes."


End file.
